your everything is everything but enough
by PoeticallyPathetic19
Summary: Sam's more than a little tired of the way things are between him and his brother. The question is, can he really put an end to things? Wincest warning.


Sam shifts his weight anxiously from one foot to the next, watching the smooth curve of Dean's back as he straightens, boxers in his hand. It still amazes Sam how comfortable Dean is with this. He's usually so uptight, always pushing Sam away because they can't let dad know. Can't let _anyone _know.

Dean catches his eye as he turns, smirk tilting his lips. He steps towards Sam, hands on his hips the second he's close enough to touch, boxers slipping back to the floor. He slides his arm around Sam's waist, slotting their mouths together as Sam steps forward to meet him.

Sam tries to say no, tries to push Dean's hands away, but instead he's pulling Dean closer. He's thrusting against Dean's hip, whimpering his submission against Dean's mouth, and sinking into that sweet oblivion he's only ever been able to find in Dean.

"Gonna be late for school, baby," Dean taunts, far too much coherency in those words as he grips the base of Sam's cock.

Sam scowls, _fuck you_ on the tip of his tongue, when Dean gives a little squeeze, sending a shiver racing up Sam's spine, and all he can think is _fuck me._ Dean chuckles against Sam's mouth as if he knows exactly what his brother's thinking and moves them back towards the bed.

He pushes Sam down, guiding Sam's legs around his waist. They've already had this problem once before. Dean was supposed to be getting dressed to take Sam to school, but here they are again. Desperate and needy, pressed for time. Dean was hard before he'd even touched Sam, not that he doesn't have the same problem, or maybe this wouldn't be so hard to resist.

Dean presses a kiss behind his ear, lapping at sweat salted skin and positions himself at Sam's entrance. He tenses unconsciously, Dean's hands smoothing down his sides.

"Relax, Sammy," he says. "Dad won't be back until tomorrow. School can wait, right?"

Sam wants to say no. He tries again and again to force that word past his lips. Bitter on his tongue, but it's right. He knows. Still, he finds himself nodding. Eager for Dean's touch, his warmth. Dean grins, kisses the corner of his mouth.

"Ready?" he murmurs, nuzzling Sam's cheek. Slow, sweet.

It makes Sam want to say no more, makes him wish he'd never let this start, but nothing's changed in the last thirty seconds. He's still hard, still wanting.

"Hurry," Sam whispers. "Now. Just do it. Please."

Dean nods, rolling his hips forward. Sam keens, searching Dean's mouth out desperately as he pushes past the tight ring of muscle.

"Shhh," Dean soothes, breath against his lips, rubbing knuckles along Sam's jaw. "Shhh, gonna be okay, baby. I'll make it good for you, Sammy."

Sam nods furiously, his eyes squeezing shut. He knows Dean will, Dean always makes it good for him. Fucks him so slow and sweet it makes Sam's heart ache, his need for Dean growing with every thrust, every kiss. Dean never lets himself go, never fucks Sam hard and fast like he likes it, too afraid he'll hurt Sam. But Sam knows that's how Dean wants it, he's seen Dean with other men. Watched his brother fuck them fast and dirty outside bars, in alleyways, wherever Dean gets the urge. Hell, Sam's caught him fucking girls that way more than once.

Dean's never been slow and gentle, that's just not his brother. It's not that Dean doesn't give a damn, because hell, sometimes he cares just a little too damn much, it's just that Dean's rough around the edges. He's rock and roll and cheap liquor. Fast cars and fast women. All that macho bullshit that's been a part of Dean since Sam can remember.

Like this though, like this he's never Dean. He's gentle, whispering affections and promises in Sam's ear that if Sam ever repeated back to him, he'd vehemently deny. Maybe even threaten to teach Sam a lesson or two about using bedroom talk against him. But it doesn't make it any less true.

Sam wraps his legs around Dean's waist, rocks his hips in time to Dean's and begs for it. Begs for Dean to fuck him harder, faster-anything to fucking get Dean to stop treating him like some kind of fragile rental. Like he's so afraid if he breaks Sam, that's it. He's got no escape.

"I got you, Sammy," Dean murmurs against his cheek. "I'll get you there."

"Harder," he pants. "Jesus, Dean. _Harder_."

If this is the last time, he needs to feel it, to remember it. Needs to have all of Dean. His brother grunts and shifts, changing angles and hitting something deep inside Sam. Sparking a string of curses that has Dean laughing and nipping at his throat.

"Such a dirty mouth, Sammy," Dean chuckles. "So filthy."

"Says you," Sam returns weakly. Dean's done and said things that still make Sam blush, that would probably make Dean blush if they came from Sam.

Dean grins against his throat, murmuring his approval and pulls out slow. Rolls his hips and thrusts deeper, harder, but not as hard as Sam wants. Not as on the edge or out of control as Sam. In fact, it's much too controlled, too calm when Sam feels like he's spinning out of control.

"Oh, god," he gasps, the pressure building at the base of his spine exploding, whiting out his vision. "_Dean_."

He squeezes his eyes shut and rides out his orgasm, Dean still thrusting inside him. Losing his rhythm as he sucks at Sam's neck, whispering his name over and over again until his body strings tight, hips snapping forward, and he comes. Long and hot, inside Sam, muscles clenching, pulling Dean in deeper. Dean groans and buries his face against Sam's neck, panting harshly against his skin.

Sam chokes out a gasp, and lets his legs fall to the bed, not daring to open his eyes and see his brother's sweaty, flushed face, or follow his hands along the curve of Dean's spine. He pushes his head back into the pillow, willing his heart to stop racing and his hands to stop moving. Haven't the two already got him into enough trouble?

He licks his lips and finally tears his hands away, pressing them into the mattress. There's still some resolve left in him, and maybe it's not enough to resist Dean all together, but that doesn't mean it's not enough. That he can't make this work. He bites down on his lower lip as Dean slips free, still tucked into the crook of his neck. Dean nuzzles and licks, hands tangling briefly in Sam's hair as he sits up. Sam can feel Dean staring at him, waiting. He cracks his eyes open, steeling himself for another reminder as to why he's so weak.

Dean grins and leans forward, nipping sharply at Sam's jaw. "Better get in the shower, Sammy. If you hurry, maybe you'll make the last five minutes."

Sam rolls over, buries his face in the pillow as Dean climbs out of bed, and listens while Dean dresses. He waits until Dean leaves the room before he sits up, afraid he'll only fall all over Dean again and they'll spend the day like this. Trying to pull away, but never managing more than a few minutes apart. Thrusting Sam deeper into this mess he's made, never able to pull himself out.

Once he's sure Dean's gone he grabs new boxers, jeans, and a shirt he knows Dean hates. He slips quietly into the bathroom, sure to lock the door as he throws his clothes onto the counter. He catches sight of himself in the mirror as he goes to turn on the shower, and stops. His chest is littered with love bites, a darker hickie sucked into the skin at the base of his neck, almost black.

He unconsciously reaches up, pressing a finger to the mark. He can still feel Dean's mouth, wet and hot against his neck. Name breathed into it. He curls his hand into a fist and drops it by his side, tearing his eyes from the mirror. There's no time to dwell on mistakes, he's already running late.

Sam pushes back the curtain and twists the shower setting as hot as he can handle, slipping beneath the spray with a relieved sigh. In and out, he'll be done. He can go to school, he can end this with Dean and just…_go_.

Dad's gone, the fallout will be more than Sam can stand to think of, but as long as dad's gone he can deal with it. He can leave, can stay out with friends, stay late at school-_whatever_. He won't have to pretend that things don't hurt, that Dean's not angry, and that everything's not fucked to hell. He can let this sink in and move on.

If only he could keep his hands off Dean.

Sam showers quickly and towels off, eyeing the lock nervously. If Dean hasn't come in by now he's probably safe, but probably isn't good enough. It's not definite, and definite is what Sam needs. It's what's driving him now.

He pulls on his jeans and his shirt, cautiously opening the door and peeking into their bedroom. It's still empty and he slips out, shoving his feet into his sneakers. He grabs his back pack and slings it over his shoulder. Taking a deep breath he steps towards the open doorway, the living room. He can hear Dean now, the radio switched on in the kitchen. Dean's voice low and rough, twisting Sam's stomach into knots as he sings along.

But that can't change his mind. Dean's voice, that can't be what makes this decision for him. No matter how much Sam loves to hear his brother sing, especially when his lips are pressed to Sam's ear, arms around his waist. That can't last and that can't be what keeps him lying to himself, it isn't fair. Not to either of them.

He squares his shoulders and sucks in a shaky breath. This is almost over, he reminds himself. A few words and a few quick strides to the door and it's over. He doesn't have to stick around to listen to Dean yell, or listen to his arguments. Sam can walk out the door, using school as an excuse to stay away. Dean wouldn't come after him then, wouldn't wait outside school for him. Dean would never let himself seem that needy.

Dean grins as he comes into the kitchen doorway, glancing over his shoulder from where he's loading the last of their dishes into the crappy dishwasher. They'll only wind up doing the dishes all over again, but Dean's hopeful-or just stubborn.

"Sure you don't want to just stay home?" Dean suggests, grinning wickedly. He turns to face Sam, leaning back against the counter, hip cocked. He rubs his thumb across his lower lip, tongue flicking out. Making promises he'll never keep. "Spend some quality time with your big brother, baby boy?"

Sam's breathing falters, but he hides it quickly and shakes his head.

"Let's not do this, Dean," Sam says, denying his brother. His older brother that he's always worshipped, always cared just a little too much for.

It isn't that he doesn't love Dean still, because he does, a hell of a lot more than he'll ever be able to forget or admit, but he can't do it anymore. Can't keep pretending it doesn't tear him up inside to see Dean with other women, other men. Can't keep pretending that what he wants from Dean isn't more than Dean's ever given. Or will ever give.

Because it _does_ tear him up inside and he does want more than Dean's willing to give. Sam wants commitment, wants Dean to belong to him the same way he belongs to Dean. Completely, without question, or lies. Without hiding.

Dean can't be that guy for Sam. Can't offer him more than whispered _I love you's _and _Sammy, you know I do's._

"I'm gonna be late for school," he points out when Dean steps around him, in front of him again, grip unshakable and just on this side of too tight around Sam's wrist. Dean's already pointed that out more than once.

His stomach twists, cold dread filling his veins. It isn't that he thinks Dean will hurt him, because he knows no matter how rough Dean gets, he'd never really hurt Sam. Never force him into anything. Even if that's what Sam wants.

"What's going on, Sam?" Dean demands quietly. His tone no longer light, teasing.

Sam snorts and shakes his head. Stares at his brother a little coldly. Does Dean really even have to ask? Sam's seventeen and he's known for a little over three months now that this thing between them is going nowhere. Hasn't been since that first kiss, first confession.

Not that it hasn't been great, because, Jesus. Sam doesn't think he'll ever find someone like Dean again and even if he does, they'll never be able to completely take his place. If at all. Dean's one of a kind. A once in a life time kind of thing, and Sam's not so stupid he doesn't realize it.

He's also not so stupid he doesn't realize how far Dean's willing to go. Which isn't far enough.

"I think it's pretty obvious, Dean," he sighs. Three months he's known, three months this decision has weighed heavily on him, but he just can't take it anymore. Can't take the lying, the sneaking around, the not feeling like he's _enough_. He may have given in this morning, more than once, but he won't again.

"That makes one of us," Dean disagrees. "You've been acting distant all morning. What's going on?"

Sam shrugs, tries to seem as indifferent as Dean when he says "I think it's time we moved on."

On the inside he's screaming, damn near pleading with Dean, or maybe himself, to forget about that. To keep trying, to make things work no matter what.

For once it's Dean that's shocked, wide eyed and slack jawed. Cool, calm and collected has left his brother and it's enough to scare Sam, to make him rethink everything. Until Dean snorts and nods.

"Yeah, Sammy. I knew it wouldn't last long." Dean squeezes his wrist affectionately and releases him. "Have fun at school, man."

There's no trace of coldness, no bitterness or resentment. Not a single accusation-leading him on, playing games, starting something he knew he'd never follow through-that he's half expected from Dean. Half hoped for because then that would mean that Dean expected something more from this. Fingers tight, bruising around Sam's wrists as he demands answers, reasons for letting go of something so _good, _so_ right. _But that isn't what he gets. No, he just gets acceptance with a smile, like he means nothing at all.

Sam can't believe how easy this is for Dean, how little of a fight he put up, or really how he didn't put up a fight at all. If Dean had loved him so fucking much, how was it so easy to give him up? To just walk away like the past six months hadn't been anything but kisses and stolen touches.

That isn't love. Giving up isn't love, not when it hurt this much.

Sam sucks in a breath if only to keep from collapsing in front of Dean and returns the nod, but not the smile. That's too much for him, his idea or not. Dean lets him leave then. There's no fighting, no giving chase. He just watches as Sam walks stiffly from the room and out the door, letting it slam shut with a little more force than he would have liked. Sam feels his chest tighten a little more with each step, the invariable tug towards Dean growing stronger with every breath.

It hurts, it fucking hurts so much to know that this wasn't important to Dean like it was to Sam. That his brother's not even trying to work things out, to understand what's going on with Sam. He feels his knees start to buckle, the world swaying around him. He's put so much effort into them, into making Dean happy and keeping their secret safe from Dad, and it's over. _Over._ With one stupid fear, one stupid idea that he'd expected some kind of resistance to. Instead he's the one hurting, he's the one wanting to beg for forgiveness and turn things around. It was never Dean.

Sam snorts and wipes furiously at suspiciously wet eyes. Why had he expected something from Dean? Why had he expected to mean something? His brother doesn't care about him that way, not if this is so easy. All that fear about Dean being in it for Sam is becoming glaringly obvious as the truth and he feels like a fool.

Sam doesn't deserve Dean, could never live up to Dean's standards, but he'd wanted to try. Wanted to prove to Dean that he could be more, that they could be more. His own stupid mouth had ruined any chance of that, and now he's walking to school with his chest too tight to breathe and hot tears running down his face. A sinking feeling that he'll be replaced before school's over. Dean's never been alone for long, always someone there to scratch that itch for him, and Sam had thought that was over. That he'd be that for Dean. He can't do this, can't go to school and pretend like everything's all right when all Sam can think is his life is _over_.

Before he knows what he's doing, he's rushing up stairs, pushing through the apartment door to find Dean exactly as he left him.

"I lied," Sam says, shoving Dean roughly against the wall. "I fucking, I can't do this," he yells miserably, tears stinging the backs of his eyes. "I can't fucking walk away from you." _Can't even fucking breathe. _God, when has his life gotten so fucked up?

Dean relaxes under his grip, doesn't fight Sam (not that Sam's expecting that from Dean anymore), just studies his face warily before easing one of his hands free.

"Sammy," he whispers, brushing the too long bangs from his baby brother's face.

Dean's fingers skate across his forehead and along his cheek to grasp Sam's chin gently. He leans forward, pressing a soft, forgiving kiss to Sam's waiting mouth.

Sam blinks, unconsciously shifts into Dean's touch. "What?" Sam's breath catches as Dean's thumb rubs over his lips. "You didn't even fight," he accuses. "Just…let me walk away." And Sam can't forget that, can't understand it when Dean's so gentle with him like this.

"You're going to be late for school," Dean says, again. Like a goddamn broken record and Dean just won't let it stop skipping.

"I don't fucking care about school right now," Sam snaps. "You let me walk away, Dean. Fucking let it go."

"What did you want me to do?" Dean demands, a little heat creeping into his voice as his fingers tighten just this side of pain around Sam's jaw. "Wanted me to yell? Maybe cry? Bust up that pretty mouth?"

"I, no," Sam says helplessly. He just wanted something a little more than nothing. Even if that meant Dean telling him to get the fuck out. Was that too much to ask, to hope for? "You fight me on everything, Dean. On every stupid-" Sam breaks off, blinking in utter confusion.

Dean fights him on everything. Whether they stay behind on a hunt, who gets the shower first, whose turn it is to do the dishes-_everything_. Stupid, small, petty things. But for this he doesn't fight? It just isn't Dean, unless…

"You knew," Sam says slowly as the grin breaks out across his brother's face, satisfaction oozing from it. "That's why you…"

Dean strokes a hand down his side. "There wasn't anything I could say to change your mind, Sammy. You had to decide if it was enough for yourself."

"But you didn't even fight me on it," Sam hisses angrily. "You just gave up like I didn't mean a damn thing!"

"Sammy," he sighs. "You know that's not true."

"The hell it isn't," Sam says. "You didn't even ask me why, Dean! You just _let me go." _

"What else could I do, Sam? You wanted to go, you wanted to go. I couldn't fucking hold you down until you told me you loved me!"

"Is that-" Sam blinks. "Is that what you want?"

Dean scoffs, eyes carefully guarded as the attention shifts to him. "I'm not a girl, Sam."

"So? Last time I checked I wasn't a girl either." And there wasn't a second that went by that Sam didn't want to hear that from Dean, didn't want his touch, or his kiss.

"Wrong again, Sammy," Dean smirks.

Sam scowls. "Fuck you."

"Sam," Dean sighs, smirk dropping. "I can't make you feel something. If you don't want to do this anymore, I won't force you. It's not like this isn't fucked up enough."

"I don't want you to make me do anything, Dean. I want you to fight for me, I want you to want this, too."

"I do," Dean says. "I do want this, Sam. Do you see me running away?"

"No, but I don't see you fighting either," Sam shoots back. No chasing, no arguing, no anything. Not even a word of disagreement.

"You think that makes a difference?" Dean asks. "That it changes whatever you're feeling that made you decide this wasn't a good idea anymore in the first place?"

Sam shrugs, shame creeping into his belly. Maybe, maybe not, but at least it would give Sam something. Hope, reassurance, _something_.

"I want this to work, Sam," Dean says firmly. "But you chose to walk away, not me. It's up to you what happens from here."

"I…" Sam struggles to find the right words, to explain himself to Dean. How what ran him off in the first place is the fear of losing Dean. "I want that too, but you…"

Dean leans up and kisses him softly, a barely there brush of lips. "But I, what?" He kisses Sam again, a little harder this time, but pulls back before Sam has the chance to deepen it. "What, Sam?"

"I need," Sam whispers, lips parting on a sigh as Dean steals another kiss. "You don't feel this way, too," he finally settles on. "Not like I do. I can't, I need-"

There's no brush of lips, no soft nips and sucks, but a hard crash of mouths as Dean devours his words with a growl. "You think I don't need, Sam? Think I don't want?"

"Yes," Sam nods, his head spinning. Wait, that's not right-is it? "No…Dean?" He doesn't know what the right answer is; he can hardly remember the question. What were they talking about again?

Dean grins and drags their hips together, grinding down. "Guess I'll just have to prove otherwise, huh?"

And like that, he's falling all over again.


End file.
